


The Sacred Pierogi of the Most Blessed Prattle

by echospool



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Share One Brain Cell, Chattering nuns, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Food-Lover Aziraphale (Good Omens), Humor, I have no idea what I'm doing, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, The Chattering Order of St. Beryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22666777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echospool/pseuds/echospool
Summary: In the fifteenth century Aziraphale is ordered to investigate a cloister of nuns who produce suspiciously heavenly pierogi. Crowley shows up for moral support.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	The Sacred Pierogi of the Most Blessed Prattle

One wouldn't expect a small order of nuns from Krakow to spread as far West as quickly as it did, but the Chattering Order of St. Beryl was no ordinary order. By the twelfth century, families from Minsk to Brussels prevailed on the Chattering Order to take in their excess and excessively silly daughters, forming one of the most robust, if historically ignored, conclaves for women in Continental Europe. In addition to the service that they provided to beleaguered parents everywhere, they were renowned for their unique pierogi recipe, passed down from the original sisters of the order in Krakow. The pierogi were originally spread through a series of unsuccessful pantries and kitchens intent on feeding the indigent and homeless. Unfortunately for the sisters of the Chattering Order of St. Beryl, even the indigent were reluctant to sit in the company of the chattering sisters for the length of time it would take to properly appreciate the meal. More often than not, patrons of the sisters' charitable programs walked away sympathetic to the Duke Casmir, and would have ordered any of the women executed themselves had they the misfortune to be married to one of them.

The Order's luck began to change, however, in the late fifteenth century when a young woman took up vows at the newly formed enclave just outside Oxford. Sister Agnes Garrulous was the first Living Rule to commit herself to the Chattering Order in England. Had she not had a miraculous talent in the kitchen, she might have single-handedly convinced the clergy to dissolve the order to spare themselves from her truly impressive nattering. As it was, everyone who tasted one of Sister Agnes Garrulous's pierogi found themselves overcome with an inner peace and joy that transcended petty physical concerns like being overwhelmed by a chattering nun.

Even so, only the least fortunate would still choose to venture to the enclave during normal chattering hours if they could help it. But on Tuesdays during the nuns' silent reprieve, the Oxford Cloister of the Most Blessed Prattle became one of the most exclusive and highly sought after dining destinations in Christendom.

The angel Aziraphale, formerly of the Eastern Gate of Eden, having been stationed on Earth the longest and most consistently of all the Heavenly Host, was tasked with investigating the miraculous pierogi by his superiors, this being neither a miracle sanctioned by heaven, nor one of any apparent divine origins. While Aziraphale had been known to perform the occasional frivolous miracle he did have certain moral standards that demons did not need to adhere to, and so he would never have assisted a mortal chef in crafting heavenly food. However, that did not mean he was above partaking in such delicacies, and so he accepted the assignment with good grace and a sly, excited pat on his ample midsection.

Aziraphale frowned upon arriving at the cloister. It didn't look like anything special, and he certainly didn't detect a whiff of angelic influence about the place. Or at least, no more so than any run of the mill abbey constructed in the last couple of centuries. He glanced around and observed by the relative height of the sun that it was about time for the Order's weekly half hour blessed silence, so he entered the dining hall. If he happened to perform a minor miracle to secure himself a seat at one of the long wooden benches despite the impressive line to get in, who could blame him? He was on a heaven-sent mission, after all.

Sister Mary Generative laid a plate of the pierogi down in front of Aziraphale and he inhaled deeply. His stomach rumbled, somewhat embarrassingly for an angel, and he waited impatiently for the fresh dumplings to cool. He wanted to pop them immediately into his mouth, but he knew that he would be rewarded for delaying the gratification and waiting until they had reached an optimal temperature for human consumption. He wiggled in his seat, and considered spending another minor miracle to speed up time so he could eat them now, but banished the thought when he thought about the paperwork involved in explaining away something so frivolous to Michael and Gabriel should they happen to request it.

Finally the dumplings cooled enough to pop one into his mouth and he was immediately transported in mind and spirit to the first time he'd ever tried truly exquisite human food. He felt he was tasting the memory of joy, with a long umami finish. He didn't realize he'd closed his eyes in sublime delight until he opened them to see a familiar face smirking back at him from across the table.

"Crowley!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing here? I thought you were tempting a potential saint in Judea."

"Oh, well," the demon Crowley waved his hands vaguely in the air, "didn't end up taking much work to tempt that poor bastard. And I wasn't having any fun there, so I decided to see what you were up to."

Aziraphale leaned in, furrowing his brow, "Crowley, don't tell me that this is all your doing?"

"All what? Last time I checked you didn't exactly need demonic temptation to eat out. Though I think this is the first time I've ever seen you in a convent." Crowley scrunched up his nose, quite adorably Aziraphale thought, at the mention of convents.

"The pierogi are angelic," Aziraphale hissed under his breath, looking around to make sure that no one overheard him.

Crowley's eyebrows rose, and he leaned back slightly, waiting for Aziraphale to explain further. When Aziraphale didn't expand, Crowley shrugged and said, "What do you think I'd have to do with blessing dumplings? Divine food is more your side's thing."

"Well," said Aziraphale, "It's not like they're transubstantiating. But how else do you explain these morsels imparting pure joy when you eat them?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Crowley said. "Don't you think everyone's just generally happy to be out of the fourteenth century? Seems like you're projecting onto the food."

"Crowley, please take this seriously," Aziraphale sighed. "There's something happening here and it isn't coming from our side. We don't have any saints due in this region for another hundred and fifty years at least."

"This is what happens when the plan you all follow is ineffable," Crowley replied, "You can't see what's coming."

"You are not helping," Aziraphale pouted, and if Crowley weren't wearing sunglasses he would have seen the corners of Crowley's eyes soften into something like affection.

"Well then," Crowley said, "Let's figure out what's going on together."

At just that moment, giant sonorous bells started ringing from above the Cloister's chapel, and all of the patrons of the dining hall started frantically packing pierogi into handkerchiefs and bits of cloth. A few of the dumplings fell to the ground, and everyone who saw sighed softly, like an echo of their first heartbreak passed through them at the sight of the heavenly food on the floor. But the sisters of the Chattering Order were gathering at the front of the hall and arranging themselves in a choral formation. One nun in particular, who was a head taller than the others, and had a strong, stocky build and delicate graceful hands took in a deep breath, ready to break her half hour of silence, and the diners around Aziraphale and Crowley scattered, trampling over the discarded dumplings on the ground without a second thought. Aziraphale glanced at the demon quizzically, but Crowley merely shrugged, picked up a dumpling, and examined it between his fingers before putting it back down on Aziraphale's plate.

In a sudden burst of sound, all the nuns started singing. However, as was the wont of their Order, each of them sang exactly what was on her mind or in her heart without respect to what the others were singing, either in content or in key. The remaining stragglers in the dining hall hastily exited, many of them dropping the dumplings to cover their ears, and cursing on their way out. It was truly unfortunate as, when the sisters were of the mind to sing together rather than at cross purposes, they did so quite beautifully. But organizing such an effort was difficult, and Mother Superior was infrequently inclined to be bothered.

Aziraphale winced and cleared his throat a couple times, trying to catch the attention of one of the sisters, but they were rapt in song. Aziraphale, always mild mannered and polite to a fault when dealing with humans, often went unnoticed by louder voices, and he was thoroughly drowned out in the hall. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his dark glasses and approached the tall and stocky sister waving her hands at the front of the group, playacting at conducting in the midst of the chaos.

"You there, tall nun lady, do you know where we can meet the chef who created these things," he picked a stray pierogi up off a plate and waved it in front of the tall nun's face. The tall nun broke out into a wide grin and started her habitual chattering at him while the rest of the nuns in the makeshift choir started tittering at each other, excited to see an outsider willing to speak to one of them for any length of time.

"Well that would be me, Sister Agnes Garrulous is my name, always has been. Well, not always, I guess. I was born with a different name. A boring name, but I've always been meant to serve the Lord Our God, and he must have always had this name in mind for me, don't you think? I quite like how it trips off my tongue. Sister Agnes Garrulous, although I should be ashamed of myself, falling slave to vanity, but yes, that's me, pierogi chef and servant of Our Lord extraordinaire. Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?"

"Right, well, my friend here had a question for you," Crowley replied and stepped aside to make room for Aziraphale to enter the conversation, which he did, awkwardly. Aziraphale did not like being the center of attention. He never quite seemed to know what to do with his hands.

"Yes, you see, my friend and I here were wondering exactly what makes your dumplings so heavenly, if you don't mind us asking," Aziraphale said, stammering a bit, feeling uncomfortable under the weight of the collective gazes of all the women in the cloister.

Sister Agnes Garrulous positively vibrated with joy at having her genius acknowledged, although she did not know that Aziraphale was using the word "heavenly" in the technical sense. "Oh how lovely. Of course, we love visitors, and I was just about to start on the evening batch for the sisters here. If you'd like to see me work you're welcome into the kitchen so long as you don't touch anything or interrupt the process."

Crowley looked skeptical but Aziraphale smiled and wiggled slightly in anticipation. "A seat at the chef's table? How exclusive," he said, and turned to Crowley. "You will come with me, won't you?"

Crowley could think of little he wanted less than to sit in a cramped kitchen with a chatty nun, but Aziraphale's sincere excitement was a constant weak spot of his, so he nodded and they accompanied the tall woman through the dark hallways of the cloister and into the kitchen.

"It's funny you turning up when you did," said Sister Agnes Garrulous as they walked the hallways together.

"How do you mean?" asked Aziraphale, and Crowley groaned, dreading the prattle that they were no doubt about to be subjected to.

"Well, it's funny that we have so many visitors coming in lately who seem to be enthralled by my pierogi. Myself, I don't see anything too special about them, but gentlemen come from miles around to pay for a plate when before they wouldn't donate a penny to help put shoozie-woozies on the feet of the little starving children. And from what they say down at the orphanage, the children are ever so much better behaved after a plate of the stuff, which is funny because when I was growing up a plate of hearty food only served to make the boys that much rowdier when their bellies were full. But what do I know?"

"That's fascinating," Crowley said drily, "but I think my friend here was wondering why you think it's curious that we showed up now."

"Oh right. Well, the sisters starting falling in love with the pierogi years ago, and then we started sharing them with the monks at the abbey down the road, and they would sneak some of what we gave them off to their friends on the outside, and apparently the blessed things are responsible for at least five new monks taking up robes, and I know that pride is a sin, but I can't help being a little happy that it was something I did that seems to have made that happen. Then, about a year or so ago Mother Superior comes upon a book of prophecy, written in darkest antiquity, see? And it says that a bit of love and generosity will attract the right faces here to the cloister. It predicted this very date, and I look at the two of you and I think I see something of the Lord shining through in the both of you."

Aziraphale beamed at Crowley, who shuddered and brushed nervously at his shoulders, as if to shake off any residual holiness she might have seen on him. Aziraphale tutted fondly at Crowley and turned back to the nun. "But my dear," he said, "I have it on good authority that, while your creations certainly seem to have a heavenly effect, do not themselves come from a heavenly source."

"Whatever do you mean?" laughed Sister Agnes Garrulous. "Good only begets good, everyone knows that."

"Can't argue with her there," said Crowley as they entered the kitchen, and he made his way to the cupboard and started rummaging around for a decent bottle of wine. Unfortunately, the only thing he found was blessed wine for the sacrament of communion. He placed the bottle gingerly on the counter and tiptoed away from it as if it might reach out and bite him at any second. Aziraphale took pity on Crowley and miracled in an excellent early fifteenth century vintage and handed him the bottle. Crowley glanced at the date and smiled. Aziraphale knew that Crowley would be disappointed to see anything from the fourteenth century no matter how delectable the vintage, and Crowley felt a little tug in his chest knowing that Aziraphale had remembered this little detail.

Sister Agnes Garrulous was still busy chatting away about her childhood or some such, but Crowley and Aziraphale had both stopped listening for a momentary relief from the constant babble. Crowley leaned back on the countertop and took a long pull from the bottle of wine. Aziraphale noted that perhaps the one thing he appreciated more in the universe than a full bodied red was watching Crowley appreciate that full bodied red.

"And that's how the angel Hastur blessed me to be able to create food fit for the divine themselves when I was just a wee novitiate. Always be grateful to him, I will," Crowley heard Sister Agnes Garrulous say, and nearly spit out the wine he was swallowing.

"Did you say the _angel_ Hastur?" Crowley asked incredulously.

"Oh yes," said Sister Agnes Garrulous. "I'd always thought of angels being beautiful, but I guess it takes all sorts and it's not for me to judge."

"Mean looking eyes, frog on his head?"

"Yes, that would be him. Every time I've seen him he's been rather cross with me, telling me to shut up and such, but I tell him that if the Almighty wanted us sisters of the chattering order to shut up, then they wouldn't have canonized St. Beryl, and he doesn't have much to say back to that, now does he?"

Aziraphale's face fell, and he felt his heart break for the young woman in front of him. He approached her and said as gently as he could muster, "My dear, I'm afraid that the entity you met with was not of the Heavenly Host."

"Oh, and how would you know?" shot back Sister Agnes Garrulous, accenting each word by pouncing a heavy meat mallet onto a slab of freshly butchered beef.

"I am Aziraphale, representative of the Almighty herself. I am here to caution you against the temptations of demons. You must know that it physically pains me to ask you this, but you must stop using your gift. It was not given to you by heavenly means."

"And who was it given to me by then? Lord Hastur said that someone might come and try to get me to give up on the Lord's gifts. Why should I trust you?"

Aziraphale sighed. It was not in his normal job description to prove himself to humans, but he supposed that since Gabriel and Michael themselves had sent him here, this must be very important. He took in a deep breath, and on his exhale he manifested an impressive set of wings that spanned the entire kitchen, and Sister Agnes Garrulous was speechless for the first time since the Tuesday silent reprieve had ended.

The kitchen was still for a moment. Aziraphale wondered briefly if he had broken her and would have to miracle away the memory from Sister Agnes Garrulous, although he hated to wreak havoc on an individual human's free will. Then he turned over and saw Crowley staring at him with a curious expression on his face. Aziraphale took another set of deep breaths and in a blink his wings were gone, and they were standing in the kitchen, just three apparent normal humans again. Sister Agnes Garrulous was breathing shortly and sharply, her eyes darting around the kitchen for a possible avenue of escape.

"A bit of a shock, I know," said Aziraphale, again trying to be as gentle as he knew how. "But I hope you can see that your gift is not a gift. It's a temptation. Lord Hastur is not an angel, but a Duke of Hell. You should probably find another one of the sisters to cook from now on."

Sister Agnes Garrulous at last seemed to come back into herself, and shook her head violently. "Seems to me if you represent the Almighty and you're asking me to stop doing good in the world, then the Almighty might not be so great."

"So you'll be quitting the order then?" asked Azirphale hopefully.

"I don't see why I should. Maybe you lot all have the wrong idea. Lord Hastur told me that I had the ability to do good in the world and it looks that way to me these past few years. So why not go on back to your angel friends and find some way to spread as much goodness as the Lords of Hell do."

Aziraphale deflated. "You mean, you won't stop spreading temptation and sin through your cooking here?"

"'Fraid not. I make people happy, Mister Angel, Sir. A lot happier than any of us here were before I took over the cooking. If Lord Hastur is working with the Adversary to spread peace and joy on earth then. Well," here Sister Agnes Garrulous took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she was about to say, "Hail Satan. Now get out of my kitchen."

Aziraphale blushed and stammered, looking for the right words.

What he wanted to say was, "You have the capability of becoming a saint! Let them lead you not into temptation but deliver you from evil."

What he actually said was, "Well, if you're going to continue do you think you might send a couple parting dumplings our way?"

To which Sister Agnes Garrulous replied, "Get out of my kitchen," again, banging her meat mallet to punctuate each word.

Crowley nicked a small basket of pierogi and took Aziraphale by the arm. "Come on, angel," he said softly, and guided Aziraphale out of the cloister and into the dusty street.

"Well, that certainly couldn't have gone any worse," Aziraphale pouted. Crowley stuck out the basket of pierogi for him, and Aziraphale's features melted into a soft smile as he took them.

"I don't know about that," said Crowley. "Seems like you've done me a favor. I guess I owe you the next one. Plus, it's just one silly nun with some unconventional ideas, spreading a little temporary joy. It'll blow over in a lifetime or two. It's not as though it's the end of the world."

"No, I suppose you're right," Aziraphale sighed, and popped a dumpling into his mouth. They'd unfortunately gone cold, which dampened the flavor of the meat quite a bit, but the pop of joy still came through as he swallowed. "It is odd though, that Hastur was able to mimic angelic power like this. Is that something you lot can do now?"

"Nah," Crowley said with a wave of his hand. "Probably just took the credit for something else going on. Easiest way to tempt people, you know. In fact, this may be all your lot's doing after all. Isn't your plan supposed to be ineffable? How do you know you even did anything wrong then?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed, "That is bordering on blasphemy."

"I guess I've done my one bad deed for the day then," Crowley smiled, and it something tickled at the back of Aziraphale's mind.

"Crowley," he said again, "When we were in the kitchen, why were you staring at my wings like that? It's not like you haven't seen them before."

"Oh, that," Crowley said. He blushed a bit and rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's just been a while since I've seen them, and they are quite beautiful. You can't blame me for looking."

It was Aziraphale's turn to blush. "No, I suppose not. I am rather proud of them."

They stood on the side of the road in companionable silence for a moment. Crowley would have been happy to stay there forever, but Aziraphale retained a sense of propriety and duty that Crowley had not yet figured how to finagle him out of. Azriaphale broke the silence with a sad smile. "I suppose it's time to get back to our respective duties," he said.

Crowley could not have disagreed more, but he knew saying so would likely not produce the desired effect. "Right, then," he replied, and stuck his hand out awkwardly. Aziraphale took it and they shook. It was the first time they ever shook hands, and each silently decided it would be the last. It was a gesture more familiar than they should have been, being on opposite sides of the battle over creation. However, both angel and demon secretly felt that the handshake was too stiff and impersonal for the bond that they felt, and swore off the gesture for good.

The moment was awkward, but it passed. Neither of them wanted to exit the other's company quite yet. This time Crowley broke the silence with an offer, "I wouldn't be able to tempt you to a spot of lunch in London, would I? Most of the food's rubbish, but I heard about a little hole in the wall that might not be so bad."

Aziraphale beamed at him and they began down the road together, talking about everything and nothing with a passion that would have made St. Beryl herself proud.


End file.
